


Death of the Voice

by Wintersand



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26720221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintersand/pseuds/Wintersand
Summary: A world in which the Dragonborn is executed in Helgen, the people of Skyrim must pick up the pieces to this broken world and find a way to survive. Following a half Bosmer/half Nord woman named Eleanor on her journey through the province.In the future expect characters such as Serana, Aela, Ralof, Hadvar, etc. to make an appearance.
Kudos: 2





	1. Death From The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction, so thank you for reading. If you finish any constructive criticism or comments are welcome. I used more of a 3rd persion omniscient narrator for this chapter, the rest will be told with 3rd person limited. This is just the prologue so we have not met our main characters yet, if you really want to you can skip this chapter, the dragonborn dies, thats all you need going forward.

Three horses trotted down the twisting road to Helgen. Through the old trees with their knotted trunks and green needles. Over the dense underbrush, a sign of that which cannot be maintained. The wild lands of Skyrim, every meter was a fight to hold. The pointy thistles and bushels of grass hugged the road, clawing back at civilization. The rhythmic clip-clop of their hooves was percussion to the melodies of songbirds flitting through the trees. The three horses kept on, unaware of the struggle taking place all around them. 

Behind the three horses rolled three wagons groaning in protest where wood met wood. Old and mildewy, you could still smell the rain from night before. The wagons rolled on, over the fine dirt and the old stones that marked a road in disarray. There had been neither the time nor the gold to maintain these roads. These had been the times of wars, peace was fleeting. 

The great war had ended only 26 years ago upon the signing of the White-Gold Concordat, wherein the Meade Empire and the Aldmeri Dominion came to a tenuous peace. Now the empire fought itself. The Redguards of Hammerfell, the Dunmer of Morrowind, and the Argonians of Black Marsh were all in rebellion. Now the Nords had joined them. The three wagons served their purpose and rolled along behind the three horses.

Steering these three horses and three wagons were three men. Soldiers. Volunteers. Born in Skyrim these men served the Meade empire in Cyrodiil. They were hard men, if untrained and inexperienced, when the rebellion began they had raced to enlist. Young though they were they had been worn down by the famed Skyrim winters and in time would become fine soldiers. As of now they were mere wagon drivers, and drive those three wagons they did.

Surrounding the three horses, three wagons, and three men was a large precession, heavily armed and armoured men marched in formation, the sound if steel hitting steel rung out with every calculated step. They were a division of the Imperial Legion. Leading these men was General Tullius, military Governeor of the Empire, famed hero of the great war.

In one of the carts pulled by one of the horses, driven by one of the men, sat the man for which all of this was necessary. Ulfric Stormcloak, killer of High King Torygg of Skyrim. He was a bear of a man, long dark hair and a full beard. He was dressed in extravagant furs and leathers which did little to protect him from enemy weapons, but much to display his Nordic pride and status. Imperial intel had led the division to him and a small group of his followers, the Stormcloaks. They had fought well but were ultimately defeated. In the cart with him sat a follower, dressed in his blue tunic and chain mail with a blonde mop of hair topping his head; a thief in a roughspun shirt and trousers, short brown hair tucked behind his ears; and a sleeping stranger clad in rags.

The stranger stirred, the follower spoke, "Hey you, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."

The stranger did not answer. He was the most curious of the lot, unassuming in a attire, the rest spoke to a gravitas perhaps imperceptible. Were it not for the dirt stained cheeks and the mud matted hair, the smooth skin and the willowy figure, you could be forgiven for assuming he was a figure to take note of. It was as if he was imbued with a power long unseen. Still the stranger did not answer.

The thief however, did, "Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along, empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you I could have stole that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He looked to the stranger. "You there, you and me, we shouldnt be here. Its these stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The follower said. The soldier driving their wagon barked and them to keep quiet.

"And what's wrong with him?" The thief asked of the gagged man.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High  
King."

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if  
they captured you..." The thief paled and leaned back defeated. "Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

The follower was somber when he finally answered. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

"No, this can't be happening," the thief said, "this isn't happening."

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" The thief was unravelling, now aware of his imminent death.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

As they reached the village they could hear the laughter of children running, the knock on wood as the carpenters made repairs, the clang on steel of the blacksmith. A beautiful cacophony of civilization, not entirely natural, but welcoming as a hearth on a cold winter night. They also heard the murmer of the townsfolk. Hushed whispers, gasps of shock. The townsfolk had heard the news of Ulfric's capture but would scarcely believe it had they not seen him roll into town in chains. This quiet anticioation left the men in the wagon unnerved.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me." Said the thief 

The follower was attentive as if in battle. He scanned the crowds and saw a familiar figure. "Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like  
the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do  
with this."

As his anger subsided the man looked despondent. He was longing for simpler times and better days. Days of singing and dancing the night away, days of learning the sword and doing chores. "This is Helgen, I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod  
is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I  
was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

The townsfolk had gathered in the square before the tower. The three horses pulling the three carts, driven by the three men finally came to a halt.

"Why are we stopping?" The thief asked.

The follower said. "Why do you think? End of the line. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

The thief was whimpering now "No wait, we're not rebels!" He said. 

"Face your death with some courage, thief." Said the follower.

"You've got to tell them we're not with you! This is a mistake..." He pleaded.

His begs fell on deaf ears as the Imperial Captain stepped up to address the prisoners. "Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!"

"Empire loves their damn lists." The follower muttered.

A younger brown haired man beside the Legate began reading names for the men in the cart, another soldier for each cart. First, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The gagged man stepped forward. Then, "Ralof of Riverwood." The follower followed. Next, "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this! You're not gonna kill me!" He ran. 

They killed horse thief Lokir of Rorikstead with one well placed arrow. 

Finally the young soldier turned to the stranger, "wait, you there. Step forward. Who are you? A nord by the looks of it. You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim kinsman." He turned to his superior. "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."

"Forget the list, he goes to the block."

The young soldier replied, "By your orders Captain. I'm sorry, at least you'll die here in your homeland. Follow the captain prisoner.

That the stranger did. It was a sombre occasion in Helgen, normal executions could be confused for a holiday festival, but now tensions were high. Many townsfolk supported the Stormcloak cause in private if not spoken.

General Tullius stepped up to Ulfric, his face steeped in disdain. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Ulfric grunted in response, defiant. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

Across the mountain a violent roar was unleashed, loud though it may be it was too far away and went unheard among the unsuspecting gathering.

The Imperial Captain looked to the priest of Arkay, dressed in burnt orange robes and said "Give them their last rites."

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and lets get this over with." One of the Stormcloak prisoners had interrupted the precedings.

"As you wish." Said the priest.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning. My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" He walked to the block and kneeled down.

The headsman's axe was swift. It dropped in a swish of air splitting the man's head from his body in an instant. The crimson blood pooled from the wound. Two men came forward to drag the body.

"Next prisoner!" The Captain shouted. She pointed at the stranger, "You in the rags!"

The stranger tried to resist but he was overwhelmed by two soldiers. The young one who had been kind to him earlier tossed him to his knees, "I am sorry." He said.

The stranger closed his eyes and died in an instant. No one cried for him, no one mourned. Just an unknown man with unknown goals brought down before his time. Unknown to all present, with his death the thread of prophecy had been severed and all must persist in this doomed world of their own creation.

In the sky they heard a sickening thunder, a primordial scream. A black spot of death dropped from the heavens ancient in origins, the shadows clung to its hide, its scales chunks of the night itself. The creatures presence was oppressive and unknowing. It pushed on the hearts and minds of all who gathered there, fueling their fear, dousing any bravery. Eyes like gates to nonexistence, they peered every which way seemingly at once. No one moved, rooted in fear they were helpless before it. It seemed to laugh. It opened its mouth. The flames spread. Helgen burned.


	2. Escape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is earlier than most will be, I wont be able to manage daily uploads constentley due to work but I wanted to get this one out so we could actually meet some characters.

Eleanor ran to their front door when she heard the commotion and threw it open, her father lolled behind her. "There he is," she heard someone say. "Ulfric Stormcloak captured! It really is him!"

Her father looked at his feet unhappy, though he tried to hide it. Seeing him like this dredged up old and painful memories for Eleanor. Jorrund was a hero of the Great War who had refused the empire's praise and riches. He resented them for taking her mother who was used to trade for Imperial citizens in a prisoner exchange upon the signing of the White-Gold concordat. They knew that bearing a half-Nord child would result in her execution when she returned to the Aldmeri Dominion, but what is one elf woman's life to a strong imperial soldier. Because of that decision Eleanor grew up with no mother and a broken father. She hated them for that moreso than her father did. 

It was hard enough to grow up looking different than everyone else, let alone not have stable parents to lean on. With her pointed ears, high cheekbones, and thin nose and face she stood out amongst the other children growing up. They never let her forget that either. It wasn't hatred that the people of Helgen felt. They were polite and outwardly kind, but she would always be an other to them. Half nord, all elf. She had friends too at least, Karji and Tem had always accepted her, though she would have left years ago were it not for her fathers declining health. For now, she thought, it was best not to dwell on it.

She stepped forward about to race down the rickety steps to the town square, then paused and guided her father down the steps. "Thanks, El" he said, then when they reached the bottom, "go on then, I know you'll want to watch."

She smiled at him and took off towards the square. When she ran she felt alive. Her shoulder length auburn hair flapping in the wind, the air in her lungs, her heart pounding out of her chest, the tap, tap, tap, of her feet on the ground, it felt right. She weaved through the slow flowing crowd picking out familiar faces. There is Hjalti the butcher and Vilod the barkeep deep in conversation, Old-man-Oleg muttering to himself as always, Torolf with his son Haming. It seemed everyone was here to see the execution. 

She slowed as she reached them, the first prisoner, dressed in stormcloak garb, had just been executed. She spotted Ulfric still dressed in his furs, and General Tullius standing in front of him, a taunting grin on his face. Then the second prisoner was executed. Strange, she thought, he isn't dressed in Stormcloak gear... She had little time to ponder further as no sooner than his head hit the ground death personified fell from the sky. 

Dressed in black, bathed in flames it wrought destruction to the only home Eleanor ever knew. She rolled on the ground, though she did not know when she had fallen. Was that Vilod she saw charred and burnt or was it Hjalti? She wretched as the scent hit her nostrils and the smoke hit her lungs. She grasped at the ground desperately trying to escape. Someone grabbed her arm, have to get free, she thought as she wrenched her arm loose. They grabbed her again and spun her around. From their stature she could tell it was a man, he was covered in soot. She said, "My father! We have to find my father."

She tried to get free to begin her search but could not pry his hands from her wrist. She looked back at him and scowled. His lips were moving though no sound was coming out. That's strange, she thought, then she realized there was no sound at all. She could not hear anything at the moment.

The man pulled her to her feet and dragged her through the streets. Every direction she looked she saw her life burning down around her. The blacksmith's where her father had bought her her first knife, the apothecary where she purchased the salve when she cut herself with that knife. The bar where she, Karji, and Tem had been kicked out numerous times when Vilod had grown tired of them. The stories these buildings could tell, and now they were gone. She choked back tears as she nearly tripped over a too small body, one of the children burned beyond recognition. Finally the sound returned, at first a deafening ring, and slowly the world returned to life.

She wished it hadn't. Now she heard the screams of her neighbors, men women, and children. She heard the wood cracking and stones popping. The fires were violent in their crackling. She heard the beast's roar, giant stones grinding together, mammoths trumpeting, bears howling, all from one mouth. It shouldn't be possible.

The man's hand was still latched firmly on her wrist. Over a pile of rubble here, around a burning building, through an alley they went. All the while that terrible roar echoed around them. It seemed to speak to them, mocking their feeble attempts to flee. It took pleasure in the act of killing them. She shivered. In defiance of logic a great shadow leapt over them, what could cast such a shadow when everything was a source of light? She craned her neck up to the sky and finally understood this terrible beast. A dragon. More menacing than any of the tales had said. Hundred metre wingspan, head larger than an ox, legs like tree trunks, and covered in black spiky scales. It would kill them all.

She had to keep running. Focus, she though, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. She had her rhythm now. Finally she saw where she was being lead, along the base of one of the stone towers huddled a small group of people. Make that two groups, she thought as she saw Ulfric and three of his Stormcloaks brandishing swords at Tullius and two Imperials. Behind them cowered some of the townsfolk. Oleg, was there, as was Haming. No Karji or Tem. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw the last one was her father. Tullius turned as they approached, "Hadvar, good you found her." The man, Hadvar she now knew, let go of her wrist. She rushed to her fathers side. His breaths were laboured and he was covered in ash, but he was otherwise okay. 

She could feel the tension in the air as the groups spoke. Tullius said "I don't much care where you go. It is my duty to bring you in and see you executed and I intend to do so. Hand over your swords and we will escort you out of town"

"Damn you! We want us all to live through this day!" Ulfric was becoming agitated. "You want my sword? Come and take it!" Eleanor saw as each of the Stormcloaks that flanked Ulfric tensed up, ready to release a barrage of attacks. She inched away pulling her father with her to a safe distance should the fighting start.

The ground shook underneath and the weaker among them fell to their knees. Finally, Hadvar spoke sense, "If any of us are to survive this we must work together. General, please."

Tullius lowered his sword, "Fine. Come then, we don't have much time."

The group set off through the remnants of the town, careful to stay out of the dragon's line of sight. Overturned carts and broken walls supplied the cover. They came to an open street and ran, she dragged her father behind her. When she reached the alley on the other side she turned and saw Oleg and two of the imperial soldier burn. There is nothing you can do, keep going, she told herself.

At last they reached the wreckage of the town wall and climbed over, no time to rest they took of into the trees. They ran until their legs gave out, afraid that it would yet not be enough. She heaved, desperate for clean air, and finally looked back at Helgen. More accurately, where Helgen was supposed to be. The black smoke reached up to the heavens in an effort to bring down the sky on top of them. The flames roared, audible in the distance, stretching higher and higher. Death flew with his black wings unfurled, circling over the town. Her home...

She looked back to their group of survivors. None looked well. Ulfric was busy bandaging numerous cuts to his arms and legs, as we the other Stormcloaks. Tullius was wrapping burns on Haming. Soldiers, they do work fast. Hadvar was lying on his back, defeated. Eleanor moved to her father's side and poured over him, checking for cuts or serious burns. "I'm fine El," he said, "check yourself first." Typical, ever the soldier. Alas, it did need to be done. 

Her hands and knees were scraped, and she had a long gash on her forearm. She stitched herself up as her father had taught her when she was younger. I will need to clean that later when we have supplies, she reminded herself. She groaned as Tullius stood up and signaled for the others to do so as well. Was one small break to much to ask?

"We have to keep moving, it still isn't safe. Falkreath is not far from here. In our condition we can be there in two days. They have a small imperial garrison where we can refit." He pointed at Eleanor and her father, "You two can stay there or continue on with us to Solitude." He started to walk when she heard three swords be pulled free of their scabbards.

"We aren't going." The blonde Nord beside Ulfric said. Tullius drew his sword in a flash. Hadvar followed.

"Damn it son I will kill you where you stand." Tullius roared. "This is not a debate."

She felt a familiar handle in her hands. She turned hand saw her father had slipped her his old dagger. It was nothing fancy but had saved his life on many occasions if he was to be believed. She realized then that her dagger had been in their home. Another piece of her past destroyed.

"You fight us and you'll die old man." Ulfric said. His face was calm but his eyes were unblinking, unmoving pools of rage bubbling up to the surface, threatening to break forth and unleash a tempest. The five soldiers stood unmoving, none willing to make the first move and play their hand. Then Ulfric moved to speak, "Fus Ro Dah!"

Before Eleanor understood what was happening Tullius, Hadvar, her, and her father were all launched backwards through the air. She flew into a tree and glanced off, pain shot up her leg and something popped. She heard a sickening crunch and saw Hadvar slumped on the ground next to a large boulder. Past him her father tumbled over the ground until he came to a stop. Tullius had not moved far, he hit a tree close to where they stood. His legs did not appear to work and he was struggling to stand. She attempted to stand herself only to fall back down, she felt her legs, no apparent breaks, though her hip seemed dislocated. She looked back up and saw Ulfric towering over Tullius. His men, not far behind, had already grabbed Haming.

"You can't do it on your own, you always need help." Tullius snarled at him, "Go on then you murderous coward, finish it."

"Skyrim belongs to the Nords." He said and let his sword fall. Tullius slumped into a growing pool of blood, dead. 

Ulfric turned to the blonde Stormcloak and gestured over his shoulder to Eleanor, Hadvar, and her father, "Ralof, grab them and tie them up. Leave Tullius for the crows. Hroki, you and Arnjulf go find us shelter for the night."

Two Stormcloaks, Hroki and Arnjulf she guess, stalked off into the forest as another, Ralof, walked towards her. She tried to crawl away but with one leg unusable she went no where fast. He grabbed her and began to bind her hands. 

Eleanor slumped back defeated. She let the events of the day wash over her, nearly everything and everyone she knew were gone. There would be no more drinking with Karji and Tem at Vilod's, no more dancing under the starlight at the Saturalia festival, no more training with Thorald, it would all be different now. It would all be harder now. She and her father were on their own. Wordlessly, and with no resistance, unconsciousness claimed her.


End file.
